


won't you wrap the night around me

by writtensoul



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, and it's fluffy, basically it's just them having a day off, but they have sex, that could also be considered fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtensoul/pseuds/writtensoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis and harry have a day off together and they're in love and it's insane, really, how much louis loves his dumb boyfriend.</p><p>aka cuddling and sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't you wrap the night around me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hayley](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hayley).



> i went from no writing for a month to two things within a three-day time span [high fives self]

“Harry, has anyone ever told you how fucking dumb you are?”

Harry grunts and Louis hears a loud thump—Harry is trying to get up. See, like, Harry always  does this thing in the morning where he tries to roll himself one way, and then the other, so he’ll end up on Louis, but most times he’ll roll the one way too hard and end up on the ground. Like he is now, moaning and groaning.

“Just you, baby,” Harry says, and his voice is ridiculously fond. Louis thinks he could punch Harry in the throat and Harry would smile and kiss Louis on the nose and say _thank you, angel_.  Harry wriggles around a bit more until Louis just tells him to go back to sleep, and so he does and it’s dead quiet.

But, see, Louis can’t fall back asleep now. Once he’s awake, he’s awake, and Harry knows this and he knows that Harry’s eyes are open and staring up at the bed and he’s breathing as quietly as he can because he’s waiting for Louis to stop pretend-sleeping, too. It’s kind of a _thing_.

“Let’s go bathe, then,” says Louis, and he sits up and throws his blanket off of him. (They have two because Harry always falls off and takes his blanket with him.) (But most of the time Harry throws his off and crawls under Louis’ because _it’s warmer, Lou.)_

Harry squeals like bathing is a fun, exciting thing, and maybe it _is_ because they’re together and everything is fun and exciting, and he jumps up to lean over the bed and grab Louis’ hand. They stare at each other for a few moments, Louis a bit shy, but he can’t help wanting to stare at Harry as much as he can. Harry’s grinning like they’ve just done something naughty, like they’re about to spray whip cream on his third nipple, and he ducks down super fast to kiss Louis’ open lips.

“Nearly chipped my tooth, you oaf,” Louis whispers onto the side of Harry’s mouth, and he can smell that his own breath is a mix of sleep and like, something _not_ good, but Harry stays and holds Louis’ cheeks.

“God, you’re cute,” he says, and then trots off in his naked glory to the bathroom. Louis watches his tiny bubble-butt jiggle and wonders how on earth he could find it so attractive, but it’s Harry’s, so.

When Louis gets to the bathroom, the tub is halfway full and Harry is sitting in the bottom of it and he’s spreading his fingers under the stream so water splashes everywhere. Louis snorts and reaches for his toothbrush.

“Hey. Hey, Lou.” Harry cups water and throws it at Louis.

“What?”

“How many times do you think Hugh Hefner has had sex?” Harry looks genuinely perplexed; see, that’s what Harry does. You could ask him how many hairs he has on the top of his head and he’ll actually think about it like he could possibly summon up a plausible response.

“I just don’t know, Harry.”

After Harry’s tub is full he plugs it up with a little plastic nub, and it’s really quiet except for Louis spitting into the sink and washing his mouth out. He taps his toothbrush three times on the sink, and then puts it in the Spiderman holder next to Harry’s. He has to shave—badly.

While he’s doing that, rubbing shaving cream onto his face, he hears a rhythmic slapping from the bath. A normal person would assume _oh, someone is jacking off in the bath_ , but Louis knows, so he just thinks _it’s my stupid boyfriend playing pat-a-cake with the water again_. Harry giggles to his dumb old self, humming the tune under his breath, and then he stops and dunks under the water.

Louis screams _i love you so fucking much_ and Harry’s bursting out of the water with heaving breaths, just about to crawl over the ledge of the bath to see if Louis is okay, but then he looks and sees that Louis is smiling with a shaving cream beard and so he pouts grumpily and crosses his arms.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he says like a bloody two-year-old, and Louis can’t resist going on his hands and knees to kiss the pout off his lips. Harry gets white over his chin, and how ironic is _that_ ; Harry doesn’t even need shaving cream yet.

“I was just telling you I love you,” Louis reasons, keeping his forehead against Harry’s, and they do that _thing_ again. They stare at each other like they can’t believe they’re together, in every sense of the word, and that they’re even in the same room together. Louis pecks his lips, gently, slowly, and then heaves himself back up to the sink. He shaves, washes the razor, and feels his face. It’s soft, just a little bit he missed on his jaw, but whatever. He’s not going anywhere today anyways.

“Come in here,” Harry tells him, and he’s quiet and thoughtful-looking.

Louis nods, pets his face one last time, and strips down. He knows Harry’s watching, looking at all parts of him, but he also knows that the looking isn’t hungry or _sensual_ or anything. It’s just appreciative, really, and Louis knows this because Harry has hold him; Harry’s told him everything.

Harry’s stupidly honest, see, and he always tells Louis things. When they were at the X-Factor all those years ago and sitting on Harry’s bunk while eating Sour Patch Kids, Harry’d sucked a sweet raw of all its sour sugar and leaned forward, breath sickly sweet, and said, “I really, really like you Louis.”

Louis climbs into the bath, causing quite a splash, and he tucks himself into the space between Harry’s open thighs. Harry hugs him tight and hums _my baby duckling, i love you, i love you duckling_ , and Louis keens and tucks his nose under Harry’s jaw.

They cuddle until the water is lukewarm and then Louis whines about hypothermia and Harry carries him back to bed, rolls him up like a big burrito, and takes off to make tea and get a movie disk. (“Harry, we’ve got Netflix, you know.” “I won’t have any of that techy stuff. Old school is the best school.”)

Harry’s taking forever, so Louis wiggles out of the burrito and finds Harry measuring honey in the kitchen. He’s got the blue, rubbery measuring cups out, and his hands are very nearly shaking with how focused he is on getting the right amount of honey. For Louis’ tea. Because Harry’s an idiot.

Louis goes, “Christ, I love you,” and Harry gasps and drops the measuring spoon into Louis’ tea. He grumbles about how he _nearly had it_ , but Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and rests his face on Harry’s back. They don’t have time for this, right, because they’re always on the go and stressed and Louis doesn’t have time to tell Harry he appreciates that he makes funny faces at Louis when he’s upset and that he’s so kind to everyone he meets and stays out of drama as best he can.

Harry places his hands on Louis’ and sniffs. He’s got a bit of a cold; he caught it after Louis got it—one guess how—and really, Louis should be making the tea and coddling. “Home is wherever I’m with you,” Harry breathes, and that, it just. It nearly knocks Louis’ heart out of his chest.

“Stop that,” Louis tells him. It’s, like, Harry doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Louis sort of does; he’s had Hannah and a few others, but Harry doesn’t know what you do and what you don’t do in a relationship, so he sort of just does everything as big and great as he can and he loves so hard and he gives Louis the world, he does. Louis knows if he were to tell Harry he were quitting the band, or moving to Alaska, Harry would grin and say “This’ll be an adventure,” because he just knows Louis wouldn’t go _anywhere_ without him.

“ _You_ stop that,” Harry retorts, and turns around to pick Louis up by the waist and places him on the counter. He walks into Louis’ space and hugs him, because fuck if they can’t stop holding each other, and Louis goes, “I love my ma and pa.”

Harry doesn’t try to correct him and Louis knows he got it wrong and _God_ , it’s just things like that that makes Louis fall even more in love. He’s a rock falling to the metaphorical ground and he’s hitting it hard.

They curl up back in bed after drinking their tea down and Harry whips out a copy of Mean Girls 2 even though it’s absolute _shit_.

Harry’s giggling and Louis’ sprawled half on him on his tummy, poking his dimple whenever it shows up. He comments things like _nice teeth_ and _you have a big smile_ and _you need a tan_ and Harry knows it just means Louis loves him and wishes he were less attractive so it wasn’t so hard to look away from. By the time the movie is half over, Louis is groaning in false pain and rolling on and off of Harry repeatedly.

“Pay attention to me, I’m pretty,” he moans; Harry finally pauses the movie and climbs on top of Louis with his body hovering and his hands braced by Louis’ head. Louis looks up and blinks a little, licks his lips, and Harry smiles sweetly and licks Louis’ tongue.

“You’re a bit of a baby, aren’t you?” Harry asks him. It’s rhetorical, but Louis still goes _wah, daddy_ , and Harry goes red and shyly lowers himself down onto Louis. Their bodies are stupidly close because of Harry’s weight—he nearly crushes Louis—but Louis’ lungs have enough room to keep moving. They kiss like idiots, that’s how they do it: Harry pecks Louis’ lips and pulls away and Louis pecks Harry’s lips and pulls away and then they both go in and nip at each other and lick and it sounds wet and fabric rustling joins into the noise when Harry smoothes his hand up and down Louis’ torso.

“You wanna—?”

“Yeah.”

They’re naked in a matter of seconds; Harry undresses them while humming Run the World by Beyonce, and he slicks up and places Louis’ legs—gently—over his shoulders and he stays put.

“Well?” Louis asks, a tiny bit breathless, because he’s nearly bent in half, see, and it’s a little hard to breathe.

Harry smiles naughtily, and this time it’s with good reason. He pushes in slowly because he knows Louis hates it when they start off too fast and he turns his face to the left to kiss the inside of Louis’ knee. It’s a small thing, but it’s a cute thing, so Louis whimpers and Harry’s back to looking at him.

“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows together and all. He doesn’t stop, though; his hips keep moving slowly like he really can’t help himself, and he’s said before that _it’s so hard to slow down when you feel so good_ , but Louis knows he always will if he asks.

“I’m good, yeah, y’just big,” Louis tells him, and Harry leans down to kiss him and Louis is sure he’s now entirely bent in half, but then he’s got Harry’s mouth over his, soft and big and puffy, and Harry picks up his pace.

He pushes Louis’ hair out of his eyes and stares down at him like he’s a big, shiny diamond and with each thrust he says _tight_ or _beautiful_ or _i love you_ or _i could never get enough of you_. Louis swims in it, always swims in it, but he never drowns because Harry’ll go harder if he notices that Louis’ eyes are glazing over from how much he loves it.

They’re as close as can be without _breaking_ Louis, and Harry’s panting and his obnoxious necklaces are clanking over Louis’ collarbones, and Louis is grabbing them, throwing them round to Harry’s back, and Harry whines and pushes himself deep. He holds himself there, just still, and his head’s thrown back and his face his pinched up in a silent cry, and then Louis can feel him coming and he swallows thickly.

His thighs shake and Harry rides himself through it, moving in and out and his eyes are glistening and shining with love, and then he pulls out and shuffles down. Louis’ legs slip way open, because fuck, he’s too weak to do anything with them, and Harry strokes his thighs while he ducks down and slides Louis’ tip into his mouth.

“ _Christ_ ,” Louis grits through his teeth, and it only takes seconds of Harry bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks for him to come, closing his thighs around Harry and shuddering. It’s great—always is, and when Harry comes up he’s looking like he’s just hit the lottery, like he’s just found what he’d been looking for for years, like he’s so in love he can’t stand it and Louis is sure he looks the same.

Harry makes his way back up, tries his best to make his body small and curls right around Louis, and they breathe and Louis strokes Harry’s slightly sweaty but good-smelling hair. It’s soft; he fluffs it a bit through his fingers, and Harry groans his gratitude.

“I reckon we can just sleep for four hours and order Chinese later, hey, sleepyhead?” Louis coos (but he’ll deny it later) and kisses a wispy lock of curls.

“As long as we get—”

“Coconut rice and chicken balls, I know, sweets. Sleep. Coming into my arse is hard work.” Louis flicks Harry’s forehead and Harry snorts and quickly tilts his chin up to kiss Louis’ mouth and then he’s burrowing himself as close as he can to Louis and soft little snuffles come out of his mouth minutes later.

“You’re so stupid, baby,” Louis whispers to the air, “but you’re my stupid baby.”

(They get food later and Harry tries to eat his rice with chopsticks and ends up with rice on his nose and chin and Louis thinks _I didn’t plan for this but I’m so glad it’s here_.)


End file.
